Matters of Consequence
by Objective Mistress
Summary: A series of B&B one-shots ranging from romance and humor, to angst. CHAPTER 12: After Angela and Brennan spend an evening of liquor, Angela revels that she thinks Brennan scares guys off. Wanted to test her theory, Bren approaches Booth, drunk.
1. Bed and Breakfast

**Bed and Breakfast**

**Summary: **When a case in West Virginia catches Bones and Booth by surprise, what could be more relaxing than a night's stay in a cozy B&B?

**Rating: **T - For a tad of poor language and mentions of 'birds and bees.'

**Spoilers: **For 5.16-5.18, just to be safe.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, but I can dream right?**

**B&B**

"Bones, I'm sorry."

"No, you aren't."

"Look," Booth rubbed his face, other hand on the steering wheel. "I did it for your own good."

"Own good?" Brennan fumed. He could see her nostril flare with rage. "You literally dragged me from my date, which was going very well by the way, and compelled me to pack a bag and come with you with no regard to me!"

"I-"

"And not only that!" her jaw tightened. He could only imagine in what other situations her jaw would tighten like that.

How desperately Booth wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and pull his hair. Truly, interrupting a date of Bones' was one of the last things he wanted to do. Moving on wasn't an easier after seeing her dressed up for another man. Heck, he had to run out on Catherine to go find bones in some God forsaken field in West Virginia, which not to mention, was a three hour drive without even mentioning the shitty traffic on the Beltway and I-270.

"-then you began to reprove him." Brennan glared at him, "Are you even listening?"

"Yeah but hang on. I never approved of him. Did you meet this creep online?"

"Not approve, _reprove_, which means to mildly criticize. Why would it matter how met him?" Brennan frowned, creases forming on her beautiful face.

"Great," he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Thanks for the stirring SAT prep. Besides, I was…" his eyes drifting out the window, "…on a date with Catherine."

"Oh," Brennan looked down. Was she sullen? Upset that he also had to sacrifice?

_Eyes on the road Booth, eyes on the road._

The sound of silence hung over the car. Booth struggled to keep his eyes on the road. Occasionally, he would sneak a glance in Brennan's direction. She looked out the window, surely examining some minutiae detail in the busting traffic. God, he wished he could trace that sharp jaw line, or whisper sweet nothings into her ears.

A light sign escaped her slightly parted lips.

"Why the sigh Bones?" he asked gently.

"I was simply breathing, respiration is necessary to allow energy to be released in the cells"; stubborn as always.

Through the silence, Booth couldn't help but think of the random guy she picked off the internet. What happened to Hank? At least he wasn't a pedophile, convicted felon, murderer, rapist, creeper; the list went on and on.

"I was only worrying about your safety," Booth blurted out.

Brennan stirred, "To what are you referring?"

"To your date."

"Well, if you were truly concerned for my safety, you would pay attention to the road."

"What?"

"Being agitated reduces your concentration. I, by the way," Brennan smiled, "never drive when emotionally unsettled unless it is an absolute emergency."

Booth's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm not agitated."

"There is no reason to be so obstinate."

He looked over at her, eyes locking. "I am in complete control of my SUV."

"See!" Brennan pointed.

"What!?" Booth shifted his gaze to the road, then back to Brennan.

"While in our culture it is customary to look at who you are talking to, it is irrational to shift your attention from driving," Brennan remarked.

"Bones," he chuckled. "Of the two of us, I'm the best driver."

She snorted, "Grammatically, it would be the _better_ of two drivers, and that is an opinion, not a fact."

"Good better best never let it rest. 'Til the good is better and the better is the best. And I-," smirking and poking his chest, "-am the best."

Brennan burst into laughter. "Best implies that presence of three objects. You and I are only two. Wait" she pointed to a silver Volvo. "He's trying to merge into-"

"I noticed!"

She shrugged, "If you were a better driver than I, you would be the better, not the best." They shared a brief smile.

Silence once again blanketed the car, but this time, it was a comfortable distraction. He should be on a date, trying to move on; not in the car on the way to Nowhereville with Bones, not that he didn't want to spend time with Bones. She was right though; Catherine was certainly wasn't as smart as bones, but she was easily as pretty. But Catherine wasn't even close to being as beautiful though, not even in the same league.

'Booth…" Brennan suppressed a yawn. "I think I might fall asleep, I'm feeling quite hypnagogic…"

"What time did you leave the lab last night?" He asked softly. Without a case, he had visited Catherine at the shore near Reagan National Airport. He remembered Bones telling time ones that the area was a great place to sail.

"Around midnight…" she whispered.

On any other occasion, he would have argued that she should have left earlier, or he would have asked whether or not she had eaten. But considering that she was out like a rock, her head nestled upon the window, the argument would fall upon sleeping ears.

Jesus she was breath taking when she slept. Her face relaxed into a sanguine serenity. 'Good words,' Booth imagined her remarking. Shaking himself from his oneiric haze, he sighted the dash clock.

9:52 Friday

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped this case would be a one-evening investigation. But no, this case could easily take longer. Bones and he were going to visit Pops at the nursing home on Saturday! He shoved his hand into his pock, digging out his cell phone and punching speed dial #3 (Voicemail was #1, Bones #2, and Pops #3).

"Hey Pops," Booth whispered into the handset.

_"Shrimp! Why are ya whispering?" _

"Bones is sleeping."

_"So you got your crocheting in early eh?" _

"No!" Booth exclaimed a bit too loudly. "It's just that we have an out-of-state case-"

_"So?"_

"Bones and I won't be able to see you for lunch tomorrow."

_"Ah, what cha' worryin' about if you've got a beautiful sleepin' woman in your car?"_

"Ha ha yeah. We'll reschedule okay?"

_"Sounds great to me."_

"I'll talk to you later Pops."

_"Wait-"_

"What's up Pops?"

_"Don't let 'er run."_

"What are you talking about?"

_I didn't raise you to be that stupid Shrimp. Maybe I didn't do enough. Heh, goodbye."_

Who else has their grandfather hang up on them? Good grief. Suppressing a yawn, Booth's eyes lingered on Bones' slumbering form.

"W-what time is it…?" Brennan mumbled almost incoherently.

"10:32; we're almost there," he reached out, smoothing his hand over hers where it rest on the arm rest. It was an oddly intimate gesture but it felt too right. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's not your fault." Her voice was breathy with sleep. "I am an extremely light sleeper."

Booth gently patted her hand, "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when we get there."

**B&B**

"Bones?" Booth delivered a gentle shake to her slumbering form. "Bones, we're here."

"I-I-I'm awake," Brennan croaked.

"I checked us into a nice bed and breakfast, but there was only one room left…"

She struggled to her feet, "H-how many beds…?"

"Two," he smiled. "Come on now, up you go!" He helped Brennan from the passenger seat. Unsteady on her feet, she leaned into Booth, nuzzling into his shoulder. He couldn't help but smile; _this is where she belongs._

"I need to grab my bag and forensics gear and-" she attempted to squirm from his grasp, feebly twisting and turning.

"Whoa," Booth hugged her to him, pulling her to the stairs leading up to the bed and breakfast. "I already took all our bags up."

"You didn't have to do that…"

"Yes, yes I did," Booth guided her to their two-bed room; up a spiraling staircase to the appropriately and plainly named "blue room."

It was a small suite; a bathroom and two twin beds, with a small room across with a sofa and a TV.

"You can have the bathroom fort; you won't want to sleep in… that," he gestured to her tailored business suit.

Brennan nodded wearily, walking into the washroom and closing the door behind her.

Booth plopped down on 'his' bed with a sigh. God, this was a great bed! Much better than a crappy cockroach infested, magic-finger abound motel cot. This was the life; a nice bed, Bones… his mind began to wander to things far less appropriate.

"Booth," Brennan called. "The bathroom is all yours." She sauntered to the other bed, crawling under the sheets and hand-knit quilt. "Good night."

He took that as a sign to clean up, he tip-toed in to the bathroom, slowly shutting the door behind him carefully as to not wake Brennan. He stripped, washed his face, and stripped at light speed.

_Pull it together Booth! _He drew into a boxing stance, pulling a few jabs. He and Bones had shared a room before; even the same bed! But now, everything felt… different, and it was. He loved her! Damn! He didn't want this "move on" crap!

_Don't let her run._

He knew she loved him; he could chase her around the planet with no results! No, if Bones wanted him, she had to come on her own. He flipped the bathroom light switch off and sunk into bed. Bed. Bones. Bed. Bones. Bed. Bones. Booth began to stir, well, not him, his… his… private parts.

_This is going to be a long night._

**B&B**

Something (or someone) warm nettled into the crook of Booth's arm.

"Bones?" he groaned.

"Don't move on," Brennan whispered.

"I'm here for you but-"

"Please," she looked up into his mahogany eyes. "I'm immutable, I can't change, but I have these irrational feelings that-"

"Shhh," he stroked his hair.

"-but seeing you with Catherine, that fish lady," she spoke with contempt. "I hate being weak like this!"

Booth tilted her head up to his with a finger. "Bones, you are one of the strongest people I will ever know." He brushed a tendril of hair from her features. "I love you."

"I'm not ready to say that," she mumbled quickly.

"It's okay, great even. I love you for who you _are_."

"Why did you tell me that," she sibilated.

"I feel like I'm going to kiss-" he was silenced by a kiss. Their lips engaged in an elegant and sensual dance. There was tongue contact, boy there was tongue contact.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to have intercourse?"

"Umm… that's something that just happens, you know?"

"Well, I'm too tired to…"

"Goodnight Bones."

"Goodnight Booth."

**B&B**

**A.N. - Wow! I've had this written for a while, but as I do all the tough work on paper, the longest thing in my writing process is actually getting the words on to my computer here. I hope you enjoyed this and that it wasn't too OOC. I see that if Brennan stays the course, she's due for a crash.**

**I can't guarantee updates as I write when I'm supposed to be doing something else and I am currently working on a multi-chap. But! Send me a review (this is my first foray into Bones FF and I would love the tips) and maybe even an alert for my (hopefully) consistent updates! Bye!**

**~Objective Mistress **


	2. Broken

**Broken**

**Summary: **When Booth is injured, he needs an extra hand.

**Rating T: **For a bit of bad language and sexual references

**Spoilers: **I don't think there are any…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bones, and I have never ever broken my arm.

_**AN: Hey guys, this is an author's note, so feel free to skip if you wish! **_

_**First, let me say that I will NEVER hold back a chapter due to a lack of reviews. I love to write, and I simply post it up here so that someone else may get some enjoyment out of it. BUT, I was personally pleased with the last chapter, but considering that .265957447% of the hits reviewed, I was a bit disheartened. If it was that bad, just let me know and I'll keep my writing to myself so you don't have to suffer through it. **_

_**BUT, if you enjoy it, I would really appreciate it if you review; I need the constructive crisis, I love the encouragement, and I will even take requests. Anyway, that was a bit long winded, enjoy!**_

_**By the way, this is un-beta'd, so I apologize for any errors. If you find one, let me know and I'll fix it!  
**_

**B&B**

"God damn it!"

Brennan awoke to her partner's cry of frustration from the washroom. "I hate this!" came the second cry accompanied by a loud thump.

She fought the urge to wince at the possible implications of the loud crash. She sat up in their bed, taking the opportunity to stretch languidly, roller her neck to and fro, forcing her shoulders to relax. Despite it being a Monday, (a day she eagerly awaited after Booth often restricted her from weekend work), Brennan suppressed a groan as she pulled herself from bed. Like on any case-less weekday, Booth would drop her at the Jeffersonian before departing to the Hoover building.

"Booth, are you okay?" Brennan yelled, slipping into her robe, discarded on the floor the night before.

"No."

The Friday before, an encounter with a suspect and a badly-maintained set of stairs left Booth with a simple transverse fracture to the right ulna. After obstinately refused ambulance transport, the emergency room doctors placed him in a rigid cast from metacarpals to mid-humerus.

"Booth?" she pushed into the powder room.

He sat on the toilet seat, his head cradled in his un-scathed hand. He was tense, frustrated at the loss of independence that the loss of motor function in a limb brings.

"I can't even shave," Booth croaked.

"Considering that you are right-hand dominant, and the Catholic church's disapproval in left-hand dominance in the belief that it roots from Satan-"

"I just want to get rid of my 5 o'clock shadow," he rubbed his stubble.

Brennan scooped the discarded straight-razor off the ground. "Come here," she beckoned him with a smile.

Booth stood up wearily; she thought she heard a groan from deep in his throat.

She reached for his shaving cream, whipping up a rich lather of the white, scented foam.

Booth smiled, recognizing her benevolent intentions. He tilted his head back, giving her full access to his neck and chin.

She leaned in, delivering a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. She withdrew slowly, caressing and covering his chin with the cloud-like liquid substance.

"Do you shave up or down?" Brennan pushed the faucet lever with an elbow, holding her hands up from contaminating the sink with the cream like a surgeon with sterile hands.

"Up."

With steady hands and the precise movements of which she studied bones, she drew the razor first from his Adam's apple to cheek then once again.

"You know," she whispered, licking the now clean-shaven and cream-free column of flesh. "There is something about that stubble that turns me on."

She smiled against his skin as she felt a gasp escape his barely parted lips. In his white undershirt and blue-plaid boxers, Booth was truly a sight to behold. Excellent bone structure was one trait, but entirely genetic. Musculature, on the other hand, could only be built and maintained through time and effort.

"Hold still," she said, swiping the razor over his sculpted jaw line. "Or I will scratch you."

This was certainly a labor of love that Brennan did not mind performing at all. Considering that she felt partially responsible for his injury in the first place, (if she hadn't directed him to the decaying stairs, she would have never fallen), helping him through a few weeks of no-arm use was the least she could possibly do.

"Roll your bottom lip in."

He readily complied as she shaved the stubble off his chin. She kept her movements measured, maintaining the easy glide of the razor parallel over his skin. Brennan could not help stepping back and admiring her work.

"Uh, Bones," Booth pointed to the neat strip of shaving cream sitting atop his upper lip. "I've got a 'stache!"

"You are not wearing a sash."

"No, a _'stache_. You know, like a moustache?" He flashed his charm smile into the mirror. "Ii should grow one."

Brennan shrugged, closing the distance between the two and leaning to his ear. "If you grow a moustache, you will never receive another kiss ever again." She nipped his earlobe, allowing her hot breath to tickle his flesh.

"Get it off then," he rolled his upper lip in.

"That's what I assumed," she removed the rest of the cream from his upper lip.

"Thanks Bones."

Brennan flicked the now dull blade into the refuse container. "Lean over," she pointed to the sink, running hot water.

_Maybe he could ask me to lean over the bed later…_

As if cleaning a set of bones, she carefully rubbed the excess cream off his face. Grabbing a nearby hand towel; she patted his face until dry.

"Now," Brennan said, flashing a sultry look. "Let's see how close your shave actually is."

Without warning, she captured his lips in hers, gently laying a hand over his injured arm. She ran tender fingers over his now smooth jaw. Booth seemed stunned at first, but responding never less as he returned her passion, wrapping his left arm around her torso.

The apartment phone rang, knocking both Booth and Brennan out of their romantic haze.

"Ignore it," he mumbled.

"It might be important…"

"Let it go to answering machine."

"Come on," Brennan dragged him to their bedroom. "We need to get dressed for the day."

Coincidentally, the answering machine was located on their bedside table. Although she much preferred to _remove_ his clothing rather than aiding him to put it on; it was a decent compromise.

"_You've reached Dr. Temperance Brennan," _the answering machine played.

_"-And Seeley Booth!"_

_"Obviously, we aren't here right now."_

_"But leave a message, and Bones and I will call you back!"_

_Beep._

_"Hey guys, it's Angela. Look Bren, if you are there, try to get out of bed with your FBI hunk and get in here. I'm worried, it is 7:45 and you aren't here yet. Call me."_

The message finished the room once again quiet.

"Let's get dressed," Brennan strode to their closet, shuffling through Booth's large array of suits.

"Bone on Bones!" he whined, falling heavily back onto the bed with a grunt. "Can't I just go to work like this?" he joked.

"Well…" she picked out a black suit. "I have no problem with your level of dress, rather, undress," she selected a crazily striped tie. "But, social conventions require formal wear for your line of work."

Booth grabbed the pants, easily sliding them over his lean legs.

"Here," she kneeled at his feet, sliding a belt and 'Cocky' belt buckle on. Usually this position had Brennan _removing_ his clothing and doing… other mutually pleasurable actions.

"Socks?"

She pulled out a red-white and blue pair, slipping them on to his large feet.

"How will we get your shirt on?" Brennan pondered aloud. Her eyes traced his well defined chest underneath his white undershirt.

Gingerly, she aided him to maneuver into the tailored button-down. Pulling the shirt over the cast's right angle was the most difficult portion; she moved the sleeve down inch by inch. Unfortunately, the cast was large enough that the cuffs were impossible to fasten without irreversible damage to the seams. At least the sleeve fit over the cast in the first place.

"I think that's as far as it goes," Booth winced as he grappled for his jacket.

As quick as humanly possible, she threw on suitable garments and pushed Booth out the door.

"I'll drive," they said simultaneously, each with key in hand.

"My car, I'll drive."

"-Statistically, driving with one hand increases the likely hood of collision."

"I _always_ drive."

"If I don't drive, I won't undress you tonight."

"I call shotgun!"

**B&B**

_**Well, that's all I got. For now… muahahaha.**_

_**Review! It only takes a second and I understand the pull of lurking (I'm a lurker and I am trying to break the habit). Until next time!**_

_**-Objective Mistress **_


	3. Grave Man 1 of 2

**Grave Man - Part 1 of 2  
**

**Summary:** The Gravedigger trial has begun bringing up old wounds and reopening newer ones.

**Spoilers:** For 5.12 (I didn't see more than the promo, but just in case)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones, Fox, Kathy Reichs (that would be involuntary servitude) or anything of that great value.

_**Hi everyone! I'm back! Anyway, I wanted to get this one out the door before the new episode Thursday (is anyone else uber excited?) so it won't ruin what I envision happening at the Gravedigger trial. This one will be a two-shot, stay tuned for part two tomorrow!**_

_**Oh, and I'm not a lawyer, so if any of the courtroom situations below are incorrect I apologize!**_

**B&B**

"Order!" Judge Patterson pounded his gavel, demanding absolute attention and total silence from the court.

The courtroom was filled like a glass to the brim; just enough bodies packed in for their mutual polarity to hold them together. The presence all the onlookers combined with the summer heat and humidity create a hot and sticky inferno, leaving the men to uncomfortable tug at their collars and the women to bask in their ability to have exposed flesh in a formal situation.

"This is it Bones," Booth whispered. "Are you ready?"

"Why is everyone asking me that?"

"We just want you to be fully prepared."

"I've testified as an expert witness multiple times with great success, all of which you have witnessed."

"But, not like this. This is different."

"I am fine," Brennan crossed her arms in defiance.

"Dr. Brennan," Judge Patterson peered over his reading spectacles. "If your conversation is finished with Agent Booth there, I'd like to start."

Brennan nodded, "My apologies."

Judge Patterson motioned to Caroline the Federal Prosecutor, "Prosecution?"

"Thank you Your Honor," Caroline stood. "Today, I will prove beyond a doubt, that this woman, former FBI Agent Taffet, is the 'Gravedigger'; a serial killer who buried and tortured-"

"Objection!" The defense lawyer rose. "Your Honor, torture is a misleading statement."

"The physical and physiological strain of sittin' in the dark and waiting to die, counts as 'torture' in my book."

The jury nodded in concurrence, awaiting testimony.

"I call," Caroline turned to the crowd, "Dr. Temperance Brennan to the stand."

"Objection!" The overzealous defense slammed his hands to the counsel table. "Dr. Brennan has already completed testimony as an expert witness."

"Today, Dr. Brennan will testify as a victim and witness of the Gravedigger herself." Brennan approached the stand.

A clerk came to Brennan as she sat. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help you God?"

"The truth, yes," she answered. "But without the help of any deity or supernatural being or force of any kind."

The courtroom seemed to breathe in synchronization with the statement; it felt as if gallons of air were drawn from the room suddenly and abruptly.

_Why did she have to be so stubborn?_

Booth couldn't help but to wince and slap his palm to his face. Without solid facts, the jury needed all the emotional conviction they could possibly muster. This included the testimony of himself, Hodgins, and families of the victims. Insulting the jury's religious beliefs and shaking their trust in her testimony was not the way to go.

"Dr. Brennan," Caroline began. "May I call you Temperance?"

_Make the jury see her as a victim, not an expert. Awesome Caroline, simply awesome._

Booth and Caroline had coached her before; she knew to go along with just about _anything_ Caroline said. If she asked her to strip and it was justified, she would do it. Brennan had even agreed to skip her usual business suit for a slightly suggestive, yet professional, dress.

"Yes, Temperance is acceptable."

"We already know the facts of the abduction of you and Dr. Jack Hodgins, but tell us how you _felt_."

Booth could see her visibly tense; this wasn't going to be easy. It was a big enough ordeal when she confided in him; would she be able to do it in front of an audience of strangers?

"I-I felt claustrophobic. I was afraid to die. But yet," Brennan swallowed. "I felt a glimmer of irrational hope."

"Temperance," Caroline paused. "You were buried alive with no chance of rescue. How could you be hopeful?"

She looked to Booth, hoping to draw strength from him to maintain her façade of confidence. Booth smiled warmly, silently urging her to continue.

"I knew Booth would find me."

"Booth? Seeley Booth? The very same man that was abducted by the Gravedigger at a later date?"

"Yes."

"I understand that you were present at Seeley Booth's rescue. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why were you there? There was no reason for you to be in that helicopter," Caroline asked.

"I wanted to see him safe," Brennan struggled.

"Why?"

The courtroom fell into a think silence. People sat perched on the edge of their uncomfortable benches. This was easily transforming into the most interesting testimonies of the case.

"As partners and friends, Booth and I have developed a caring bond."

"Cherie, I work with Judge Patterson," Caroline pointed to the aging justice, "but I wouldn't even hold a door for him."

"Prosecution, this argument is tangential," Judge Patterson leered.

"My apologies," Caroline said. "And might I say that those robes look fantastic on you."

Judge Patterson rolled his eyes; the courtroom broke into a brief bout of genuine laughter.

"Now," Caroline picked up an evidence bag from the table, bringing it to Brennan. "Temperance, would you please tell me what this is?"

"That is a first edition copy of one of my novels."

'Can you be more specific?"

The realization of what was about to occur dawned on Brennan's face. Booth longed to hold her and rock away her fears. Out of respect, he had refrained from reading the goodbye letter in question; now he and the rest of the citizens present would hear what she intended to be her last recorded (and private) words.

"That was the book that was present in the SUV during my Gravedigger abduction."

Caroline snapped on a pair of powdered latex gloves, pulling the book from the evidence bag. "On this page," she held it up to the jury, "you can see that this book has non-printed writing in it. What is this Temperance?"

"That," Brennan said, "is what Dr. Hodgins and I thought to be our final _private_ message to our closest companions."

Caroline placed the book in front of Brennan, "Would you please read what you wrote?"

Brennan stiffened with fear. These were the most intimate and personal passages she had ever written.

Seconds ticked by.

"This is not relevant!" Brennan protested vehemently.

Caroline leaned over the stand, silencing her protests with an icy-serious glare. "Read it."

She shakily nodded, eyeing her own scrawl across the page.

"Angela…" she began.

Angela audibly gasped, anxious to hear Brennan's words.

… _I deeply regret not being able to tell you this in person, but, if you are reading this, I am dead. This also means that my corpse (along with Dr. Hodgins') has been discovered; this undoubtedly provides some closure that you have been waiting for. I am sorry for the loss of Jack; despite your falling out, I know you still cared for him even if only as a colleague or a friend. You have already been there when I seldom needed emotional support; I can only hope that someone is able to comfort you in the passing of Dr. Hodgins and me. _

_By what I know of your nature, I know you will mourn. I also know it is useless for be to beg you not to be filled with remorse, so I will pass on this. You can be attributed in which I lived life; with fun. If it had just been me, I would have seldom left the lab to 'party' or have 'girl time.' Because of you, I learned that there is more to living than study. Live well._

"… Your friend, Bren," she finished, tears dripping from her eyes.

Booth watched Angela sobbed in the crowd, struggling to retain her composure so that she needn't excuse herself from the courtroom. He knew she needed to stick it out, if not for her, then for Brennan.

"Read on," Caroline pushed.

"Father…"

Max Keenan sat up straighter at the mention of his title as patriarch.

…_When you and mom abandoned Russ and me, I was devastated. Though, this pales in comparison to when I discovered that you had belied your status and deceived me. The scars (both literal and inconspicuous) have shaped who I am. Like all humans, I have been corrupted by the time in which we mature and grow; it is impossible to impartially consider my life had you never left. Never less, I feel a deep attachment to you beyond the characteristic caregiver to receiver relationship. _

_You have lived without me before, I know you can manage to do so again._

"… Your daughter, Tempe." By this point, tears cut hot trenches down her face. She choked on sobs, the same that she had earlier restrained desperately. The floodgates had opened; they would be even more difficult to close with the force of the massive volume of water pounding through with incredible velocity and force.

"Bones!" Booth jumped from his seat.

"Your Honor," Caroline turned. "Might we adjourn so my witness may composer herself?"

"We begin again in one hour," Judge Patterson swung the gavel.

"Bones, wait!" Booth called as Brennan rushed from the room.

Angela laid a shaky hand upon his shoulder. "Go and find her," her voice quaking with emotion. "She needs you right now."

**B&B**

"Bones, stop!" Booth chased her through the hall of the courthouse.

Confused lawyers stepped aside, rubbing their heads, as one of the most effective crime-solving teams engaged in a cat-and-mouse display. Despite the foolish playfulness that might accompany a trivial game of tag, Booth chased Brennan with the utmost urgency.

#1. He needed to know she was okay.

#2. He loved her.

#3. He was curious what she wrote in the remainder of the letter.

#4. He loved her.

#5. He loved her.

#6. He needed her to finish testimony.

#7. He loved her.

"Come on Bones!"

She curried into a single-person handicapped restroom.

"Bones?" Booth knocked, his ear pressed to the door.

From within echoed the muffled sobs of Temperance Brennan; the tough and unemotional anthropologist.

He reached for the doorknob, only to hear the laughing jiggle of a locked door.

At the cries of her pain, Booth's heart began to crack and crumple like the first screams of a car in a compacter. If you he could, he would siphon and bear her pain; to carry her burden and pull her soul to calmer waters.

"Bones, let me in."

"…I just want to be alone…"

"We can talk about it! It will make you feel better."

"You aren't helping!" Booth heard her blow her nose. "I just need some time to compose myself so I can finish my testimony."

"Okay, I'll be waiting," he retreated from the door, sinking down on to a nearby bench, resting his head in his sweaty hands.

Every once and a while, a door would open in the hall. Each and every time, Booth would look eagerly up, waiting for the form of his partner to emerge from the bathroom.

After an excruciating thirty-four minutes, Brennan emerged, her eyes no longer red and puffy from ears. Only her expression, a well woven mask, could give away her inner turmoil to a well trained and familiar eye.

"We need to talk."

"I know," she replied. "But not now."

"Why not now?" Booth blocked her path.

"Because I need to get through my testimony with my emotional integrity intact," she flared with anger. "If we talk now…"

"I-I'm sorry I-"

"Don't push me. I'll see you afterwards," Brennan stormed off.

As much as Booth yearned to chase her, it would not do any good. Like she said, they would speak afterwards, but only if she consented. When Booth began working with Brennan, he quickly learned that it was impossible to will her into anything. She was fiercely individual; only she could change her mind. It didn't stop him from desperately hoping she would spill.

**B&B**

_**Final part two is on its way tomorrow with all the heavy Booth and Brennan stuffs! Review if you have time! I'd love it!**_


	4. Grave Man 2 of 2

**Grave Man - Part 2 of 2**

**Summary:** The Gravedigger trial has begun bringing up old wounds and reopening newer ones.

**Spoilers:** For 5.12 (I didn't see more than the promo, but just in case)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones, Fox, Kathy Reichs (that would be involuntary servitude) or anything of that great value.

_**Alright folks, hold on to your hats!**_

**B&B**

"All rise."

The courtroom rose, paying respect to the honorable Judge Patterson. Within the last few hours, the temperature in the room had risen a full three degrees; not much on paper, but a whole heck of a lock when stuck in the middle.

Booth stood, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Moisture beaded on his brow from both heat and anxiety. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair, damp from humidity. As much as he longed to know the content of Bones' letter, he knew it could be a game changer.

"You may be seated."

Why hadn't he read it earlier? Respect be damned, it would have been better not to hear it as the same time as the general public.

"Booth, you can sit down no," Angela whispered, nudging him in the thigh.

Embarrassed, he dropped to his seat. Was he really that unfocused?

Brennan took her place once again at the stand, sipping from a large glass of ice water. Her façade was strong, but for how long it would remain that way was the true question. She was like a shattered porcelain doll meticulously glided back to its original shape. But yet, it was not without cracks, without weak points, or without visible scars.

"Prosecution," Judge Patterson announced, "you may proceed."

"Thank you Your Honor," Caroline stood from the counsel table. "Temperance, would you please continue to read where you left off?"

Brennan stared down at the book in contemplation. Time seemed to still to a grinding halt. Eyes, like beams of focused photons, beat down upon her form, waiting for her to speak.

"Your Honor," she broke the thick silence. "May I preface the remainder of my testimony with a few brief statements?"

Justice Patterson looked to a nodding Caroline. He removed his spectacles, wiping his forehead. "I don't see why not."

"Thank you," Brennan began. "It is important to note that the passage that I am about to read was intended to private." She paused, surveying the dead-silent room. "I warn the court that it is highly likely that I will unable to control my emotional response."

"Is that all Dr. Brennan?"

"No," she gulped, "one last item. While there is no way to enforce this, I would like Agent Seeley Booth to leave the courtroom before I begin."

"No way!" Booth leapt to his feet in protest.

"Please!" She pleaded.

"Bones, you can't run from this!"

"Please… for me."

Judge Patterson stopped the chatter with a pound of his gavel. "You, Agent Booth, are out of order."

"You can't make me leave!"

"You know well know that I can have you removed!" the normally stone-faced judge hollered. Regaining his composure, he wiped his brow, "I would much rather have you leave on your own."

"Fine," Booth stood. "Fine!" he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"I am sorry, but if this testimony cannot continue with you in the room…" Patterson motioned for the guards to stand down. "I would rather have testimony than you."

Booth stormed down the aisle, his discarded suit-jacket trailing behind him.

"I'm sorry!'

He turned to see Brennan, standing. At this moment, he couldn't say he was sorry. He couldn't say he understood. He wasn't even sure if he could get his lips and vocal chords to move in synchronization well enough to say something coherent.

Wordlessly, he pushed through the courtroom's solid oak doors.

Damn! He kicked the adjacent wall. How could she even do this? Did she not trust him or something? What could the rest of that stupid letter have that he couldn't hear?

With no better place to go than home, Booth wandered out of the courthouse. It was five o'clock already after all. He dragged himself into his SUV and pulled out of the congested parking garage. Halfway home, his mind was still blank. It was as if a black hole of confusion and grief swallowed any well-formed thought his mind could produce.

Soon enough, he found himself stumbling through his apartment door, kicking it roughly shut with the sharp jab of the heel. He collapsed in to his worn couch in a heap. He grabbed the remote control, flicking the television on to ESPN, NBC 4, C-SPAN; it didn't even matter. All he needed was the sweet distraction.

Booth had no idea what the hell could was in that letter. He knew what he _wanted_ it to say. Heck, he wished it hadn't ever been written, meaning Bones was never captured by the Gravedigger. It would have prevented a lot of grief.

God, it had been a long day. Between the last minute court preparations early in the morning to the bathroom ordeal, his body ached and throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to will away the aches; it did not help. If only he could-

His cell phone buzzed and vibrated in his pocket.

"Catherine," the display shined.

"Hello?"

_"Hey Seeley!"_

"How are you?" he sat up from a reclining position.

_"I was wondering, do you want to get dinner tonight?"_

"I don't know…"

_"We can get Mexican."_

"Nah."

_"Indian?"_

"Nah."

_"Thai?" _

Thai…that was between him and Bones. Bones, who had forced him out of the trial he had worked so hard to bring to court in the first place.

"Catherine, I'll call you later bye!" he hung up without warning.

Booth once again lay down on the cushioned sofa. What now?

**B&B**

Someone was knocking incessantly at his door. How long had that been going on? Booth looked to the clock. 11:10? He must have fallen asleep!

"Coming!" he croaked, hopefully loud enough for whomever that person was at the door to hear. Who visits at eleven o'clock anyway?

He pulled himself from the cushions' grasp, arching his back in a vain effort to alleviate the soreness.

Booth stumbled to the door, groping for the wall in search of a light switch.

He pried the door open, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He squinted at the sudden influx of fluorescent light from the hall.

"Bones?" he rubbed his eyes again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating and/or still dreaming.

Booth eyed her head to toe and back again; she still wore that beautiful dress from earlier in the day. Its neckline plunged to her bosom; her lean legs disappeared just above the knee beneath the dress' hem.

"Can I come in?"

He stepped to the side, granting her silent entrance.

"I am ready to talk," she dropped her purse to a nearby counter, rummaging through it for something.

"And I'm listening," he plopped down on to his recliner.

"Well I-"

"Stop. Tell me why you kicked me out of the court room."

He watched her shoulders rise; she froze.

"Go on, tell me."

"I assure you that I did not kick you on any part of your body-"

"You know that wasn't what I meant," he crossed his arms.

"Do you know what this is?" Brennan spun, hardback book in hand.

It wasn't just any book, it was _the_ book.

"T-That's evidence."

"It was released to me."

"Oh…"

"Do you want to know why I asked you to leave?" Brennan sat down across from him on the couch.

"Yes."

"You know when you said that some things are just between us?" she flicked open the book. "Well this is one of those things."

Instinctively, Booth reached out, stilling her hand from turning the pages. "You don't have to-":

"I want to," she smiled weakly.

He moved beside her, "I'm ready."

"Booth…"

_"…It is irrational to say that one is sorry for one's own death. Do I wish I had survived? Certainly. However, I am more sympathetic on whatever effect my death has on you. We deal in death daily; we regularly watch family and friends of victims crumple in grief at the news of their loved one's fate. With your religious beliefs, I know you believe that I continue on in to a sort of afterlife. If this comforts you, feel free to think so. But, I believe that my life is over and the only things left are the things I have done._

_Over the years…"_

"I-I can't do this," Brennan dropped the book to the ground. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Booth pulled her into an embrace, gently rubbing her back to soothe her sobs.

"I want you to hear what I said," she choked.

"I'll finish," he picked the book of the ground, re-opening it.

He looked over the familiar handwriting looking for where she had stopped. His fingers traced over the page littered with tiny droplets of dried tears. She was crying freely when she wrote this.

"Over the years…"

_"…that we have worked together, have become what I consider to be good friends. You are the best friend I have ever had. But, I can't help but feel a deep attraction to you; one I cannot explain. I believe that this feeling is the concept of 'love' that you have taught me so well. Yes, I love you. It is something I would never have had the courage nor the strength to tell you in person._

_I don't blame you if you do not feel the same way. But please, regardless of your feelings, move on. I love you enough that having you happy is one of the greatest rewards I could ever hope to obtain…"_

"Y-You love me?" Booth turned to her, his own eyes in tears.

Brennan weakly nodded.

"Love, Your Bones…" Booth trailed off.

They sat in silence for a few moments; the giant leap forward they had together taken hung heavily over their heads and hearts.

"I love you too, you know how I feel," he seized her shoulders, forcing her gaze to meet his. "We have something! We have something great!"

"You are right. We have our friendship."

"But we can have more!"

"I can't risk our friendship!"

"Bones!" he shook his head with a grin. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But how could you know! I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, or two days from now, not even a year."

"No buts. Let's start with one day. One day!" He smiled. "We take it day by day."

Booth leaned in, capturing his lips in hers, twisting his arms around her slender torso. She reciprocated; wrapping one arm around his neck, the other ran through his short-spiky hair.

They broke apart breathlessly, looking deeply into one another's eyes.

"Tomorrow," he pulled her into an embrace. "You. Me. Thai food."

"It's a date."

**B&B**

_**Wow! I wrote like mad to get that out before tonight's episode. Hopefully all the English Honors Society stuff doesn't run over tonight or I'll have to watch it tomorrow on Hulu! That's all for now! See you in the next one and review if you enjoyed it!**_

_**-Objective Mistress**_


	5. Hindsight

**Hindsight**

**Summary:** Episode tag for The Boy with the Answer (5.21)

**Spoilers: **For The Boy with the Answer (duh), so you might not want to read if you haven't seen it yet.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. I wish I did though, when I would know what happens in the last episode!

_**Alrighty guys! The last few have been nice and fluffy, this one is a bit more angsty. I switched up from my usual third person perspective. I think it turned out quite well. Enjoy! **_

**B&B**

Booth said once, that "hindsight is 20/20." Considering that looking behind one's self is no substitute for corrective lenses, I can only assume that that this is a metaphorical reference to the analyzation of choices after the fact with the knowledge of the present and the knowledge of the resulting implications of the choice. However, I am unsure on whether to declare the individual who said this phrase first as a genius or as one who states the blatantly obvious.

It is impossible to doubt that the Gravedigger case and trial have taken a physical and emotional toll on me. The nightmares, once a waning reoccurrence, have returned with their original intensity and force; they are pure, unfiltered terror.

In these dreams, I always find myself conscious in the dark of the SUV, the groans of a bleeding Dr. Hodgins vividly in the background. If it hadn't been so terrifying, I would have marveled at the brain's ability to synthesize experiences. Slowly, I feel the air around me thicken; dense enough that I feel as if I could swim up and out in it. The dense air wraps tendrils about my throat; not enough to constrict my airway, but plenty to make their presence easily and fearfully felt. I open my mouth to gasp for breath, only to have a viscous, sticky liquid poured down my throat, strangling me from the inside.

And just as every dream is the same, I wake in an identical manner, bolting upright into my painfully empty apartment, clutching my neck in a vain attempt to suck air into my heaving chest. My lungs pull in the homogeneous air, sifting out the pure oxygen to perform respiration within my cells and feed my malnourished head.

I can't do this anymore; I am _not_ a crime solver. I am a researcher, searching for the most virgin truth, untainted by messy emotions. There stress is quickly becoming too great.

But the nightmare of suffocation by darkness is mild compared to pulling the lifeless waterlogged body of Booth from the water. I cry as I cradle him in my arms, wishing I could have had the time to tell him so many things. I wish I could have said that I think I love him, but I'm not the right person for him. I feel for Parker, now fatherless; losing two parents was hard enough, even half the pain would be excruciating.

From this dream, I wake sobbing, clutching a pillow to still the rapid rise and fall of my chest. Often, I would scramble for my cell phone charging on my bedside table. I sit with my finger poised over Booth's speed dial, waging an internal war on whether or not to take the great leap and call him. I never do.

I think of how soundly he must be sleeping; dreaming of catching villains, playing with Parker, or even enjoying time with Catherine.

"That'l be nineteen thirty-two ma'am," the cab driver says over his shoulder; my deep thoughts had completely distracted me from my current surroundings. He probably has a family; he has better things to do than ferrying intoxicated travelers about the city.

I open my purse, prospecting for a twenty dollar mark. Currency is really an interesting thing; it only has value because people perceive that it has value. It also provided for a major change in human living; money allowed a person to hold on to value to use later.

"If ya don't have cash, I take Visa."

Blindly, I shove a fifty through the window between the front and rear compartments, pulling myself out of the back seat.

"Hey lady! You want change?"

I reply by stumbling up my apartment buildings steps in a drunken stupor.

I push lazily through the revolving door, the night guard looking up from his car-centric magazine.

"Dr. Brennan, would you like me to walk you up?"

I wave him off, repeatedly jabbing the up button on the elevator bank.

_W had a case where the victim was repeatedly jabbed in the abdomen by a short pipe._

The ding of the opening elevator doors pull me in; I poke the button for the fifteenth floor. It always bothered me that the irrational superstitious belief of the unluckiness of the number thirteen, affected construction practices to the extent that the elevator serviced no thirteenth floor. The first time Booth visited, he was sorely confused when I informed him that I lived on what was technically the fourteenth floor.

_We had a case where a girl's remains were discovered at the bottom of an elevator shaft._

Exiting the elevator, I whip out my keys, selecting my apartment key from the plethora of lab, morgue, and car keys. I pry the door open, dropping my things to the ground.

_We had a case where the man was killed opening his apartment door._

"Two new messages," my answering machine clinked.

I tapped play, slipping off my heels.

"_You have, two new messages. First new message."_

_"Hey Tempe, it's dad. I want to make it up to you for that stunt I tried to pull… and for bailing me out… again. We can do breakfast or somethin'… so call me when you have spare time; I know you are a busy busy young lady. Love you. _

_"End of message."_

I pour a large glass of water, downing it quickly.

_"Second new message."_

_"Bones, it's Booth. You aren't answering you cell… I'm worried. Call me when you get home."_

I silence the device, deleting all messages. I wander to my bedroom, allowing my dress to pool at my bare ankles.

Booth really is overprotective; while I recognize the kindness in his courtesy call, I can't help but feel as if hugged to tightly.

I'm a grown woman!

_How many bones of murdered "grown women" had I handled?_

The last time he hugged me I was here, accepting comfort for the reason I fear to sleep as he told me he planning to drop his charges on the Gravedigger case also. I remember the frayed and tattered feeling of my nerves.

My keen ears hear heavy foot steps outside my apartment. If the person in question was a intruder, I have no gun to protect myself, I glance at a few heavy artifacts that my work in self defense. This is a illogical notion though; the night guard is always on duty, but he is only human. Quickly, I pull on my robe, walking to the door to peer through the peep hole. "Bones?" Booth burst through the door, clutching his spare key.

Unfortunately, my close positioning to the door didn't place me in a safe radius of its swing. The door smacked me on my right frontal bone just above my eye.

"Oww," I wince, instinctively grabbing for the wound.

"Oh my God Bones!' He rushes to me, brushing his fingers over the forming cruise. "Are you okay?"

"I need to ice the area to prevent swelling," I move towards the refrigerator.

"No no no!" he gently pushed me down into a chair. "My fault, I take care of it, end of story."

I can't help but see my refrigerator explode before my eyes, knocking an unconscious Booth to the ground in flames. Yet another situation from my FBI work.

Luckily, the refrigerator door triggers no blast as he gathers ice into a plastic bag.

"Here," her presses the cool compress against my forehead.

"Why are you here?" I ask, gratefully accepting the ice pack. "It was quite rude of you to come in unannounced and uninvited."

"I was worried. You didn't answer your phone-"

"It isn't your job or place to worry about me!"

"I'm your partner!"

"Who knows for how long!"

I watch his muscles tense, his entire body stiffening. If only I were more adapt at reading facial expressions; was he upset, angry, confused, or shocked? Maybe he felt multiple emotions at once?

"Just think a about this carefully."

"I am perfectly able to make my own decisions."

"Really?" I recognized anger in his voice and physical movements. "Because I don't think you can right now."

"Get out…" I quietly fumed.

"You are just running! You never stand and fight!"

"Get out."

"Stick it out! Take a damn vacation, come back in a month."

"Get out!"

"I won't let you run!"

At this point, we were face to face; our nose separated by mere inches. Both of us were clearly winded by the intensity of the argument.

"You won't let me run?" I yell. "Get out!" I point to the door. "It's too late! I don't want to deal with this right now! I push him to the door.

I slammed it closed once his fine gluteus maximus was through the door frame. I didn't wave, I didn't say goodbye, and I didn't even offer a smile. He didn't deserve any of that.

Still exhausted, I climb in to bed, not even caring that I had left many of the kitchen and living room lights on. I fall face down on to the mattress, melting into the down comforter. What

Booth _did_ deserve, however, was a loving mate and companion. It didn't matter if it was Catherine or some other female, as long as she pleased him for the fifty year time span he desired.

I drift off to restless sleep, nightmares taunting and tormenting me like a sadistic child burning ants in the focal point of a convex lens.

I wake as always; sweat drenching my body, sticking me to the sheets. I roll to my side, glancing at my bedside digital clock.

7:59 AM? How was that even possible? I felt as if only minutes had passed. Ultimately though, I cannot help but be thankful for the early rescue from the night terrors.

If my short seeming night yielded anything, it was that I had been able to make up my mind. No longer was I confused on my career and path; I have to get out of the line of a work. I dialed Cam's number before irrationality could seize me and distort my decision making.

_"Dr Brennan?" _She Answered. _"It's a bit too early for you to call on a Saturday isn't it? Usually I call you in!"_

"This is my formal two week notice; I will submit it in writing Monday morning."

_"What?"_

"I am resigning from my position at the Jeffersonian."

_"Are you sure?"_

"More sure than I've even been," I lie.

Deep within I know that an internal war wages; it is my duty though to make my exterior seem calm like undisturbed water.

Just like the cab ride the night before, I gladly look back…

… But waving goodbye would only make it harder to leave.

**B&B**

_**Well, I hope you liked it. I do love constructive criticism! Drop me a review, even if you are a lurker. I don't know what you think if you don't tell me. Surprisingly enough, I am not able to read minds, but I do get ESPN on cable. **_


	6. Kiss the Cook

**Kiss the Cook**

**Summary: ** The Jeffersonian hosts a summer picnic. Curtness ensues.

**Spoilers: ** Shouldn't be any, just fluff!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones, if I didn't I wouldn't throw things at my TV in anger; I would laugh at all the little lemmings I could upset with an hour of programming. Just kidding, I'm not that cruel. I don't claim to have any knowledge of football other than what I observe from marching band.

_**Well, either you hated the last one, or all of you ran off and cried while eating a gallon of ice cream. Oh well! **_

_**Season finale UGGGHHHH! No spoilers though! I'm working on a separate piece to deal with that. **_

**B&B**

When Brennan received the invitation to the Jeffersonian's first annual barbeque, she was honestly unsure of what to expect. Barbeque is diminutive of "barbe" of Australia and New Zealand ("Braai" in South Africa). It is a cooking method in which food is prepared over an open (usually charcoal based) flame. As a noun, barbeque could refer to meat, and as an adjective, an item prepared by the method.

Evidently, the event was open to the public and strived to increase awareness of the Jeffersonian's summer programs for children and adolescents. Brennan herself was sponsoring a week-long forensics program for high school students with exemplary performance in biology, anatomy, and anthropology classes.

Cam had informed the team the week before, that the gathering was not only mandatory (and would remove her from a productive Sunday of novel work), but that the event was in 'potluck' format. After a quick explanation from Angela, she discovered that 'potluck' was simply requires each attendee to bring a food or beverage.

Brennan decided upon brining a healthy fruit salad, if only to balance out the saturated fats that would be undoubtedly to be consumed over the course of the barbeque.

She covered the salad carefully with plastic wrap, placing it in the refrigerator to guarantee freshness. Booth was slated to pick her up to carpool to the Jeffersonian; the event began promptly at eleven o'clock.

Checking her Rolex (which she later learned was waterproof up to 100 meters), Brennan flipped impatiently through the latest issue of Scientific American. It was already 10:47 AM! With the twenty minute travel time, disregarding traffic, they would easily be late if he did not arrive soon.

The article on the hominoid skeletons discovered in Siberia was very interesting (she was invited to assist in the excavation, but had turned the offer down), but her mind remained preoccupied with Booth's tardiness. Had her forgotten? Certainly not! While he was no infallible being, he rarely forgot appointments' ignoring therapy sessions with Sweets of course.

Just then, her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling the influx of a SMS message.

_"Parked out front, come down,"_ Booth typed in shorthand.

Sweeping up the fruit salad as she went, Brennan locked her door and took the elevator down to the lobby. She darted to the SUV.

"Where have you been?" Brennan slid into the passenger seat. "It's 11:05, the barbeque started five minutes ago."

"Bones," Booth pulled out on to the street. "Things like that don't have a start time."

"Then why did the invitation specify 11:00?"

"It's just a guideline," he slipped on a pair of aviators. "Besides, who doesn't love to be fashionably late?"

She followed suit, puller her sunglasses off her head and over her eyes. "I don't know what that means… and I'm not particularly fashionable."

"Yes you are," Booth smiled. "You dress very-," his eyes darted from the road to Brennan. "Whoa…."

"Horse?"

"No, not word association. What are you wearing?"

She looked over her blue jeans, sensible shoes, and black button down under a grey sweater with the sleeves rolled-up. The Rolex wrapped around her wrist, matching earrings and necklace clung to their respective extremity. "Is there something wrong with my choice of attire?"

"Yeah, you're too… formal."

"I-I don't understand."

"See," he tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. "Something comfortable you know… like this."

"I _am_ comfortable," she frowned.

"Whatever you say Bones, whatever you say…"

Soon enough, the partners arrived at the Jeffersonian Institution in the heart of Washington D.C. The tidal basin's cherry blossoms were long gone, replaced by the smell of humidity and droves of seasonal tourists.

It was previously asserted that the barbeque would transpire in the institution's garden. But, the botany department persisted that the open flame of barbeques posed a great threat to their research. So instead, the function was moved to a field bordering along a shady arbor on the grounds.

Booth expertly whirled the federal SUV in to the designated lot, choosing a spacious parking space.

"Give me a minute; I need to get my new state-of-the-art grilling machine out of the back." He opened the SUV's hatchback, rolling the large, stainless steel plated grilling apparatus out of the back over an extendable ramp.

"So that's your grill?" Brennan eyed it inquisitively.

"Grill? It's more than that," he affectionately patting its hood. "This, is the Grillmaster 5000-"

"Why 5000? Is it the 5000th model?"

"No-"

"The 5000th manufactured?"

"No it's-"

"-the price? Because that seems like an awfully large sum to spend on a grill, especially on your FBI salary."

"Thanks Bones," he rolled his eyes. "It's just a name."

"So, you mean to say that it's just a marketing practice to increase its perceived value?"

Booth sighed, lifting up the grill's bonnet. "Here we have separate burger, hotdog, and steak racks. Precise temperature control for perfect meats; this thing has everything!"

"Is it propane powered?" she inspected the adjoining tank.

"Yes, so nice of you to notice…"

"Then shouldn't the valve be switched to the 'off' position? With an ignition source, this would cause sizeable danger."

"I never put you in danger…" Booth grumbled as he wheeled the grill off.

After successfully rolling the behemoth barbeque to the food preparation area, the two simply relaxed and enjoyed the pleasant weather.

"Seeley! Dr. Brennan! Heads up!" Cam shouted as a football screamed to earth in their general direction.

With the reflexes of a sniper and a skilled natural athlete, Booth plucked the ball from its parabolic trajectory.

"Nice catch!" Cam bounded over.

"Why did you yell 'heads up' to us?" Brennan asked, seemingly confused.

"To save you from death by football?"

"The mass and acceleration of the ball wouldn't have killed anyone even with a direct to the temple due to the resulting force. Wouldn't it have made more sense to say 'heads down' instead? A person's first reaction to 'heads up' is to look up, not at all bracing for any sort of impact," she observed.

"I'll keep that in mind…" Cam said.

"Alerting us by order to 'duck' would have been sufficient."

"Then you would have listened for quacking!" Booth joked with a snort.

"You refer to the amphibious animal. That, other than being a homonym, is irrelevant."

Cam smiled a curious grin; Brennan couldn't quite decipher its complex meaning. It seemed to show amusement more than anything.

"You two need to help us start a game to touch football," Cam snatched the football from Booth's arms and ran into the field.

"Sure! Come on Bones!"

"I'm unsure of how to partake in this activity…" Brennan complained while being dragged off.

"It's easy," Booth stopped her. "You remember watching football with me?"

"Quite clearly, I have an excellent memory."

"Same thing, no tackling," he placed both two hands on Brennan's shoulders.

The intimacy of the gesture did not escape her notice; her breath hitched in her throat. As much as she hated to be so affected by a shallow motion, the body often has a figurative mind of its own, acting without logic or regard to what would be germane.

"…Two hands means that you are down. Got it?"

She nodded, regardless of the lingering feelings of unease.

"Let's do this!'

The game progressed normally, with Brennan, Cam, and Hodgins on one side, and Booth, Angela (who mostly cheered), and Wendell on the other. After performing some sort of coin toss ritual, it was decided that Brennan's team would play offensively first.

"Over here!" Quarterback Hodgins yelled to reign in Brennan's attention.

She looked up, waving her hands in the air.

After mutually assuring one another's thinking, Hodgins tossed the ball into a wobbly spiral, and into her eager arms.

While 'to hit the ground running' was a common idiom and more or less physically impossible, Brennan took off towards the end zone as soon as the ball's leather hid brushed her fingertips.

"GO BREN GO!" Angela cheered from the field.

"Whose side are you on?" Wendell sped past her towards the escaping Brennan.

Brennan always considered herself to be physically fit. While competitive sporting (notwithstanding its anthropological significance) never caught her interest, to this day, she regularly visited the gym and enjoyed hiking and backpacking.

As she dashed, she couldn't help but to envision the complex functions her body performed to achieve such a seemingly simple action. The food she ingested was potential energy; digestion released the hidden chemical energy stored in the chemical bonds. That energy turned to kinetic energy to propel her forward.

She peeked behind; Booth was coming fast and gaining. Whipping her head forward, she urged and struggled to will herself faster.

Just as she approached the end zone (a tree), a hand brushed her posterior.

"Bones! You're down!" Booth shouted, skidding to a stop.

"No! I only felt one hand!' Brennan thundered over.

"I know a two-hand tough when I see one."

"I'll have you know my butt is very sensitive; I only felt one hand brush by."

She watched the color rise in his cheeks. She knew that he considered just about any touch to the hindquarters as indubitably sexual.

"Sorry about that…" he half whispered embarrassedly.

"It isn't a matter of consequence. The fact remains; you never tagged me."

"I did too!"

Meanwhile, Cam an Angela drifted together, their football game shattered by a classic Booth v. Brennan.

"How do two people so in love bicker so much?" Angela asked with surprise.

"Think we should break them up?" Cam said.

"Yeah," both said after a moment of contemplation.

"We can probably get Booth to start up the grill," Cam jogged over to the quarreling couple. "Hey you two! Cut it so Booth can get to the grilling!'"

"Cut what?" Brennan looked up confounded.

Cam shook her head with amusement, "Nothing. Forget it."

Booth treaded to the grill, accepting hamburger patties and hotdogs from the Jeffersonian liaison that brought the meats up from cooled storage.

Brennan couldn't help but to watch him work. It was… fascinating. He pulled over an apron, presumably to keep muck off his clothing. "Kiss the cook," the apron declared in bold lettering. She wondered what kind of tradition that was; passersby enjoying the barbeque didn't seem to kiss him.

"Bones, what do you want me to make you?" he asked.

"Nothing I'm vegetarian. Where do you keep this grill anyway? You certainly can't keep it at your apartment."

"Rebecca keeps it in suburbia and I need to make you something. I'd feel guilty otherwise."

"Why?"

"Because I'm cooking."

"Wasn't cooking traditionally reserved for the females of the household?"

"Guys grill."

"Is this due to some primordial fascination with fire?"

"Very funny, but no."

Brennan felt a dangerous feeling crawl up her spine. It roared sexual attraction with a growl impulsivity.

_You're a literal person, why not take cook kissing to the next level?_

What had come over her? It was wrong, but yet felt so undeniably right at the same time.

"So Booth," she soothed her hand over this elbow with a fiendish grin. "What exactly does 'kiss the cook' mean literally?"

She swore she saw him gulp with anticipation.

"I-It's just a saying…"

"I wouldn't want to miss out on any cultural traditions…" she mumbled, leaning up to his lips, ensnaring them in a kiss that was impossible to break from.

The clatter of the spatula dropping from his hand didn't even register to the making-out pair.

Cam nudged Angela. "Should I remind him I wanted my burger rare."

"No way. This is getting hotter by the minute."

**B&B**

_**After the last chapter I am suffering from review scurvy! It's a Vitamin R (review) deficiency and can be dangerous after the Bones season ends. Review if you liked it or with anything else for that matter. Until next time!**_

_**-Objective Mistress**_


	7. What Goes in Must Come Out

**What goes in must come out**

**Summary: **When Brennan plans a romantic evening, not everything goes according to plan.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones, but you know that by now, don't you?

_**This one's short and sweet; I'm still working on "What's a Year?" chapter three.**_

_**I know there is innuendo in the title, I swear, it wasn't intentional and I didn't realize it until I started typing this (when I blushed). By the way, strong language warning for this chapter. I tried editing it out, but it changed the meaning a bit. It's just one word so if you are sensitive about that, be aware.**_

**B&B**

They were dating, and it was official. Not only was it official, but it was common knowledge. Booth had ascended his apartment building's stairs to scream in elation that _he _was dating Temperance "Bones" Brennan, the love of his life.

Tonight was their third date (if you didn't count post-case festivities), and he couldn't be happier. He wore a tailored suit and carried a bouquet of daffodils that he picked up especially for her.

Despite his insistence that he should and would pick her up, complications in paperwork forced him to forgo an opportunity to pamper her with chivalry, and simply meet her at the restaurant instead. So now, ten minutes late, Booth sped to _Mucho Gusto_, a premiere Italian cuisine establishment in the heart of Northwest D.C. The restaurant promised culture with the meal; heck, he could care less. All he wanted was time with his Bones. Time, he wanted so much in fact, that he flipped on the FBI issue siren and flashing lights to speed through the rush hour traffic.

Okay, so it irritated him that she had made the reservation instead of him; it went against his unwritten code of dating etiquette. But, according to Bones, without her fame, it would be impossible to get in. He just needed to do that sort of thing for her; hold open a door, pull out a chair, you know, that sort of thing. It's not that Booth felt compelled to do things for her; he merely _desired_ to. Her happiness was his happiness.

With great haste, he found a parking spot. The problem the space conjured, however, was that it was designated for compact cars only; the Toyota Sequoia (apart from compacting its passengers with sudden acceleration), was nothing near to small enough.

"Screw it," Booth mumbled under his breath.

The SUV spilled over the space like a cup filled to just above the brim.

He rushed into the dimly lit establishment, straightening his tie as he went.

"I'm meeting someone here," Booth said to the stuffy greeter.

"Name please?

"Should be under 'Brennan'…"

"Yes, she is already here; one moment," he turned to a waitress, mumbling something incoherent in her ear.

"Right this way," the waitress said with a practiced smile, leading Booth into the restaurant.

The walls were tastefully decorated with art; the place was practically a gallery in itself. The waitress seemed to lead him on forever through room after room of dining.

"Your lady insisted that she wanted a booth," she opened a door to a private dining room. A booth with cushioned benches sat on either side of the table.

"Enjoy!"

What Booth saw next could only be described as completely and utterly breathtaking. A lone candle on the table illuminated Brennan's features with licks of light. Her luscious hair hung to the side. He wondered how in the world she had found time to change after work as a clean, yet revealing, deep purple cocktail dress hugged her features.

"Bones…wow…" he approached the table.

He brought her hands into his, pulling her form the booth and into a kiss. He felt completed.

"I told them I wanted a booth," she shot him a sultry gaze, "looks like they delivered."

"There's a lot more to deliver," Booth smiled. He slid on to the booth's bench seat.

A waiter silently entered, handing a menu to each of the partners.

"May I get you something to drink?" he asked politely.

Booth began, "I'll have a-"

"-We'll have champagne," Brennan finished.

"Very good," the waiter exited.

"Bones! What are you doing? Champagne? We don't need that to have a nice dinner."

"We're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Us."

Just as she finished, the waiter placed a champagne cooler bucket on the ground; a bottle stood upright in the ice.

He poured two glasses before leaving the couple alone again.

"To us?" Brennan smiled.

"To us," Booth mirrored.

In a comfortable silence, they each viewed the wide assortment of food selections on the menu. Booth couldn't help but stare at the beautiful Dr. Temperance Brennan; her gorgeous blue eyes scanned the menu.

"What are you looking at?" she said softly, her eyes locking with his.

"You."

She only grinned with a hint of color rising in her cheeks, and bit her bottom lip in that oh-so-cute Brennan fashion.

"So what are you going to order doc?"

"Well Special Agent, I am highly considering the ravioli."

_Chef's Ravioli_

_Handmade ravioli in a meat sauce with asparagus and a choice of side._

"Ready to order?" the waiter asked.

"I'll have the fillet mignon," Booth started. "I'll save room for dessert," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"And you ma'am?"

"I will start with the insalata alfredo," she turned back to the entrée portion of the menu. "I'll have the Chef's Ravioli, but would it be possible to substitute the meat sauce for a vegetarian option?"

"Certainly," the server took them menus away.

"Dessert you said?" Brennan took a sip of champagne.

"I do love sweets," he smiled, "and I don't mean Dr. Sweets."

Booth's eyes traced her exposed skin; from her neck to elegant shoulder to delectable collarbones.

_"Clavicles Booth, not collarbones," _he could imagine her correcting him.

The dress dipped down dangerously low to her breasts, leaving just enough to the mind.

"So, what took you so long to arrive here?" she asked.

"There was a major snafu in the Caitlin Haney case paperwork."

"I don't know what that means…"

"Snafu: situation normal, all fucked up."

"Military," she was clearly amused.

"Military," he confirmed.

The waiter brought Brennan's salad along with bread.

Booth grabbed for a piece, "Didn't we order just five minutes ago?"

She peered down at that damn Rolex of hers, "No, it's been just about twenty minutes."

"Time flies when you're having fun!"

"Actually no, time only travels slower relative to the time of others when traveling faster than being at rest. Of course, this time slowdown in negligible unless traveling extremely fast like when approaching the speed of light."

How could someone so brilliant be so beautiful at the same time? It just seemed almost unfair that one may be so wonderfully endowed by the creator. Not that Booth cared though; she was his and he was hers.

The waiter entered the room, pushing a cart with an elegant white table cloth draped over it.

"Fillet mignon," he placed the plate in front of Booth, lifting the sterling silver lid to reveal the scrumptious meal.

"Ravioli," he did the same for Brennan. "Enjoy."

"Wow Bones, this is serious stuff," he dug into the large slab of meat before him.

Brennan delicately began eating. "This has an odd taste and texture…" she faded off. "Oh no…"

With that, she ran from the room, her hand clapped over her mouth as if about to gag. He looked at the half-eaten ravioli in question; inside the dough package was the brownish form of veal stuffing.

"Oh God…" he ran after her.

This must be every vegetarian's worst nightmare.

"Where did she go?" Booth grabbed a nearby waiter by the shoulders.

The frazzled worker pointed towards the illuminated 'bathroom' sign.

He ran down the hall, skidding around the corner.

He came to a single-person bathroom; the door closed. "Bones?" he knocked on the door. The sounds of a person in digestive distress came from within.

"Are you okay?" he opened the unlocked door.

Brennan was kneeling on the hard, tiled floor. Her face hung over the toilet with her hands bracing on the seat. It just broke his heart to see her in such a condition.

He quietly approached, gently gathering her hair out of her face.

"I'm sorry…" her voice echoed out of the toilet.

"For what?"

"Ruining our romantic evening…"

"Bones… true love is holding your hair back when you feel sick," he rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Do you feel any better?"

"I'm fine…" she struggled to her feed uneasily.

"I'm terribly sorry!" the restaurant manager groveled as they left the bathroom. "The menu is being changed as we speak to include what that ravioli is stuffed with. Your meal is free and we will accommodate you anytime in the future that you wish."

Booth nodded politely, guiding Brennan out by her shoulders.

"Do you think you could handle dessert?" he smiled.

"I don't see why not."

**B&B**

_**I just needed a break from the angsty and slow-moving resolution of "What's a Year" and this was perfect! Still working on that though! I hope to have it out by Thursday. Review if you liked it!**_

_**Oh, and brownie points to whomever can correctly name the children's book in which the title of this fic appears as a line in.  
**_

_**- OM**_


	8. Up a Creek without a Pillow

**Up a Creek without a Pillow**

**Summary: **When Booth and Brennan spend a night in a rustic cabin, the two find themselves in an awkward situation.

**Spoilers: **I don't quite know where this takes place, so proceed with caution.

**Disclaimer: **Bla bla bla don't own Bones bla bla bla

_**I'm back! The title of this story is from the "Little Prince "by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Great little book.**_

_**I know the whole "share a bed" thing has been done a million times, but this one just kinda came to me. Lots of fluffy dialogue. Enjoy!**_

**B&B**

"Bones, are you dressed for bed yet?"

"Just another minute," came the reply through the bathroom door.

It was bad enough that the FBI had insisted that they go in the first place, but to make them share a bed…again…was a new low. The cabin, conveniently located in the middle of nowhere, was where they _thought_ that victims Roslyn Pugh and Don Malone disappeared from. Instead of taking evidence like good little FBI teams, someone suggested that they spend the night to "get the feel of the place."

Booth didn't know who had suggested that but FBI rank and standing didn't matter, he wanted to beat the man to a pulp. Not only was he in a crappy cabin without electricity, but he had to resist the charms of a gorgeous Temperance Brennan for the entire evening. He wasn't sure whether she tried to entice him on purpose with the subtle swing of her hips as she walked, or how damn sexy she looked in a blue lab coat. But accidental or not, it didn't make her moves any less hard to resist

"Come on, I have to get dressed too, and I have to use the bathroom. It's freezing out here and I want to get into bed," he whined.

_Hopefully she missed the double entendre…_

"Hold your stallions."

"It's 'hold your _horses_,' but nice try."

"Better?" Brennan emerged from the bathroom, holding her hands up in defeat and doing a quick twirl.

_Whoa_. Booth had to consciously keep his jaw from slacking at the sight of the anthropologist in short shorts and a tank top.

"Aren't you going to be cold?" he forced out.

"I sleep with a heated blanket Booth, I don't need to dress in layers just to sleep," she walked over to her open laptop, typing out some squinty text.

Now the image of Brennan snuggling into a nice warn bed wearing barely anything was firmly ingrained in to his mind. _Great._

"I see no cushy heated thingy on that bed," he pointed as he closed the door to the bathroom.

_Deep cleansing breaths, deep cleansing breaths. _

The tile on the floor was cold and unpleasant; at least the bedroom had a carpet. He slipped off his jeans in favor of flannel pajamas, and a white undershirt.

This was going to be an awkward evening indeed. Bones, not a lot of clothing, bed; it didn't take an intuitive leap to see where Booth's mind was beginning to wander. He imagined her slipping into bed under the think covers…wait. He didn't have to imagine.

Now dressed for bed, Booth left the bathroom like a cautious kid trying not to wake his parents up. Bones was still using that damn laptop of hers. A gas-powered heating lamp above her cast a shadow on her beautiful features.

She uttered a very un-Brennan like curse under her breath, closing the laptop with am audible slam.

"What's up?" Booth slipped under the covers.

"My laptop ran out of batteries."

"And…wow, this is a great bed!"

She sighed, if he wasn't snuggling into the down pillow, he could picture the displeasured and condescending expression on her face complete with tight frown and steeled eyes.

"My publisher…insists that I meet the original deadlines even with our busy case schedule."

"Look Bones, just relax, we can charge your laptop in my car tomorrow as we drive back to D.C. See, no problem. We're sharing a bed, we're both adults like you said, and we will be fine. Just get in to bed and go to sleep."

She walked to the foot of the bed, studying him intensely. He gulped under her feverent glare.

"I can't."

"Why not?" 

"You are on my side."

"Of the bed?'

"Yes."

"_Your_ side?"

"Yes," Brennan said matter of factly. "I _always_ sleep on the right side."

"But I always sleep on the right side?"

"Fine, I'll sleep on the chair," she walked back to the corner.

"No!" he said a bit too loudly. "Why can't you just sleep on the other side?"

"I can only sleep on the right."

"Fine Bones!" he slid over to the other side of the bed. "Happy now?"

"Quite," she slipped under the hand-knit quilt.

_Okay, in bed with Bones. Deep breath now…in…and out. Other…bed related things involved in and out too._

He groaned at his own minds inability to control its…more inappropriate thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing Bones…nothing at all."

"Well you groaned, so I would assume that you are either irritated or sexually-"

"Stop. Just stop."

"I'm sorry that you continue to feel uncomfortable discussing coitus which is further amplified by us being bed together."

"Whoa!" Booth cried. "If you say coitus one more time…I'll…"

"Hit me with a pillow?" Brennan chuckled, obviously unfazed.

How many of his dreams had begun with nice bed, a deserted house in the middle of nowhere, and the usual combative Dr. Temperance Brennan. Her mouth could maneuver to create such complex words.

The oil lamp she left on in the corner began to dim, throwing the bedroom into complete darkness. Just the illuminated outlines from the sun's light reflected off the moon remained.

With deft movements, Brennan tossed the fluffy down pillow off the bed and to the floor.

"What was that for?"

"I don't like to sleep with a pillow," she complained.

"Isn't that bad for your back?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't like it."

"Isn't that 'irrational' as you would say?" he bit back playfully.

"Well pie isn't exactly 'good' for your health, but you still eat it."

"Fine, you win," he said. "Sleep pillowless if you want."

The chill of the evening crept through the poorly insulated cabin walls and floors. It slithered along the floor, looking for its next pair of victims. The cold's only goal is to rob warmth; it eyed the couple in bed.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"I'm cold."

"Seriously Bones? Didn't I tell you that you were going to be cold?"

"Well I didn't believe you, and women feel the cold more than men."

"That's total crap."

He felt the mattress creak under him as Brennan struggled to find a warm spot. "No it isn't, women have a more evenly distributed fat layer and can pull all their blood back to their core organs. However, this means that less blood flows to their hands and feet, and as a result we feel cold-"

"Bones…"

"Studies have shown that women during their menstrual cycle perceive heat differently and considering that the pill raises core body temperature and I am on the pill-"

"Please…I just want to sleep."

He heard her sigh in the dark, "I'm just trying to maintain homeostasis, now move closer."

"No way!" he laughed.

Did she even know what she was suggesting? Homeostasis was one lame excuse in his opinion to get close to him. The real question was if she really just wanted to keep warm, or if she was just feeling snuggly.

Too late, she had already curled up to his form…and oh God it was even better than he had ever imagined. It was like a cloud, or a slice of heaven…heck, it was impossible to compare the love he felt to be near her.

"Mmmm, you're warm," he felt the vibrations of her words creep up his chest.

_Don't…read into this. This is Bones; she is probably just trying to maintain homeo-whatever…_

He felt her breathing slow, _she must be asleep now._

Now came the hard part; falling asleep himself. With Bones pulled tightly across his chest, he had no wiggle room.

When he was a child, her parents would tell him to close his eyes and walk through his favorite place. He would mentally walk through the Pittsburgh Penguin's Stadium up to the first deck, third base line where he always sat. It always sent him straight to sleep.

But nowadays, Booth had other thoughts dancing around before his mind's eye as he tried to sleep. Things like Temperance Brennan in a lab coat, Temperance Brennan in a business suit, Temperance Brennan in a bikini, and many many more Temperance Brennans.

_Just relax…count sheep or something._

**B&B**

_Crap, awake._

Without any electricity and no clock, Booth had no idea what time it was. What he did know, was that Bones was still snuggled up against him. Who knew she was a snuggler?

**B&B**

_Crap, awake again._

She was burrowing closer in to him; he didn't even know she could get any closer. She was rubbing him in an…interesting way. Interesting, meaning potentially embarrassing way.

**B&B**

The first rays of morning cut through the cabin's non-symmetrical and hand-made mirrors.

"Mmm," Brennan moaned as the light cut through her eyelids. She seemed to realize her place at once, blinking and looking around. "Sorry, I tend to burrow into heat sources when cold."

"No no, it's okay Bones." _Yeah, really okay, more like really really nice._

"We need to get up."

"No reason we can't take our time," Booth stretched, untangling his arms from her. He laced his hands behind his head.

"We need to get back to the Jeffersonian. Do you know who wanted us to spend the night out here?" she asked suddenly.

"No, but I think I have an idea."

"Who?"

"Not telling," he smiled.

**B&B**

_**Just a bit of fluffy nonsense for you to enjoy. Let me know if you liked it or not in the form of reviews. **_


	9. Accidents Happen

**Accidents Happen**

_The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances._

_-Aristotle_

**Summary:** Accidents can change the course of a life. Luckily for Booth and Brennan, sometimes they can have great affects.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones, and anything I say about tropical fish should be ignored. The only things I own are the circuit drawings and the Snell's Law derivations I doodled in the margins.

_**I know it's been a bit since I've posted one of these, but I've been hard at work on "What's a Year," the other one-shot I wrote, and a story or two in the works. **_

_**I have a Twitter account now, "objectivemiss" is my name, and I am posting when stories update and such. Also a bit of stuff like what I'm working on. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**This one is dedicated to my ancestors yet to be buried. May your urns hidden somewhere in my house never some to life and kill me.**_

**B&B**

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat composed behind her desk, busily typing nothing in particular in order to retain an air of importance. On an afternoon in which a field investigation so very pertinent to the current case, the last place Brennan desired to be was inside the climate controlled Jeffersonian Institute, doing absolutely nothing helpful.

Ever since the unfortunate…incident, she was forbidden from doing any field work. The FBI's reasoning in the matter was highly illogical; the other involved party only sustained a flesh wound and a minor fracture to the radius. It wasn't her fault that he appeared behind her without announcing himself.

"Umm, Dr. Brennan?" Dr. Camille Saroyan, pathologist and Jeffersonian "Director" entered Brennan's office with a lost-looking summer intern in tow. "Booth called. They got their man during the warehouse raid. He's sure of conviction, and needs you to fill out the usual paperwork for Caroline, and begin preparing to testify."

"Why couldn't Booth call me himself?" Brennan shuffled through her desk.

"Are Dr. Brennan and Booth on poor terms?" the unsure intern half whispered to Cam.

"No, they engage in a sort of merry war," Cam smiled, trying to calm down the new intern.

Brennan looked up, disdain for Cam's comment evident.

"But not so merry judging by the look on her face…" the pathologist turned to the awkward intern. "Why don't you go check out the forensics platform?"

"Yes Dr. Saroyan."

"You didn't answer my question about Booth," the forensic anthropologist avoided eye contact by looking at her computer monitor.

Cam held her hands up in mock surrender, "Don't shoot the messenger; all I know is that he called me, and told me to tell you."

Brennan turned from the monitor, leering at her.

"Oh no…" Cam clapped her hands to her mouth. "No joke intended."

She nodded in contemplation. "I can only assume you refer to the botched search that resulted in the suspension of my field work privilege, which is entirely irrational as-"

"Dr. Brennan" Cam approached her desk. "You shot a FBI forensics agent bringing you a message-"

"It wasn't my fault in the slightest! The agent in question was no following the proper night investigation protocols!"

"Hey," the pathologist silenced the ranting doctor. "Give the FBI a few months to cool down-"

"That's unlikely as it is now summer."

"Hey," Hodgins walked in. "Booth wants to have the body released to the family."

Brennan scribbled her signature on a few documents, holding them up for him. "Both of you, tell Booth that if he wants anything from me to contact me himself. Going through others is unneeded and can pollute our channels of communication."

"Bren?" Angela stepped into the now crowded office. "Booth's on the phone," she handed over her cell phone.

"Is there any reason not to contact me directly?" Brennan fumed.

_"Calm down Bones. Your cell phone is off."_

"No it isn't."

_"Check it, I dare you."_

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. Indeed, the device was off.

_"See? Told ya. Now get your things, I'm pulling up to the back entrance to pick you up."_

"Why? You don't have the right to take me wherever you please," she pushed her palm to the phone, looking at her audience. "I think you can leave now."

"Right, I have that intern-"

"And I have some bugs-"

"Will I ever get my cell phone back?"

All three walked out awkwardly.

_"I'm taking you to the Hoover Building. We're going to talk to Hacker about you and field work."_

"I'll be right there."

**B&B**

"Bones," Booth parked the SUV in his parking spot. "Hacker will say the same thing. You gotta shake it up a bit; work some charm."

"I'm not sure of what you mean."

"You know, give him a flirty smile, ask him to dinner."

"But Andrew and I are no longer romantically involved. And what you are suggesting sounds like bribery."

"It's not bribery. You just need to…"

"-Manipulate him?"

"I was going to say 'play' him. Try some eye sex or something."

"Eyes are unable to have sexual intercourse."

Booth climbed from the SUV, Brennan doing the same.

"Just give it a shot," he flashed his badge at security. They stepped into the elevator, going up to the administration floor.

"Get ready," Booth wiggled his eyebrows, opening the door to Director Hacker's office.

Hacker looked up from his paperwork to the pair. "Agent Booth, Temperance," his eyes lingered on her for a few moments. "Please, sit down."

The partners dropped to the two provided chairs wordlessly. Hacker's office was very nice; it had a nice view of Washington's streets due to its location on the corner of the building.

"I think I know why you're here," Hacker fiddled with a miniature Newton's cradle on his desk. "You want to discuss Temperance's field work. Am I right?"

"Yes sir," Booth nodded. "Without Bones in the field with me, as a team we can't perform as well as we can."

"I agree with you," the FBI administrator leaned back. "But it doesn't change the fact that she was involved in a friendly fire incident."

"Andrew please," Brennan spoke up. "The incident was not my fault," she flashed a warm smile. "All I want to do is assist the FBI in every way possible. This includes field work."

"Temperance, I'm just worried that-"

"-I am more of a liability than I am worth?"

"No, it's not that-"

"That you no longer want a partnership with the Jeffersonian?"

"It's not that either!"

But Brennan wasn't listening; she had to find some way to compliment him and soften his resolve. Her gaze caught a glint of water behind the talking FBI director's desk.

"Is that a fish tank?" she asked, ignoring the question's irrelevancy in their current conversation.

"Why yes," Hacker smiled, obviously touched that she noticed. He walked to his "fish" corner. "I'm sure you're wondering why it doesn't have a lid. Well, lidless is more like open water and better for my little fishy."

Brennan nodded, studying the tank. "I'm assuming, approximately 37.854 liters?"

"If you mean ten gallons, then yes," he chuckled.

Luckily for her, Booth understood the nature of her distraction. He stayed curiously quiet and watched the two with intense regard.

"Most people don't even notice the tank," he leaned a hand on the tank, obviously trying to impress.

"Well, it isn't exactly displayed prominently. In Chinese culture, the remains in an urn of passed loved ones are required to be displayed prominently."

"You know so much it scares me…" Hacker looked deeply into her eyes.

Suddenly, the flimsy tank stand gave way under the weight that Hacker had applied. The tank shuddered, water pouring on to Brennan as it fell into a shattered mess.

"No!" Hacker yelled. He swept the fish into his hands, dropping them hastily into a coffee mug field with tap water.

Meanwhile, Brennan stood soaked to the bone from the waist down.

"Temperance, I'm so sorry…I think I have a towel…"

She stepped backwards, a piece of algae under her food. With the low coefficient of friction, she easily lost her balance and landed with a heavy thud to the floor.

"Don't just sit there Booth," Hacker said through clenched teeth.

"Sure," the younger agent smiled. "But let's talk about field work first."

**B&B**

"So studly," Angela smiled. "What kind of dark magic did you work on Director Hacker to get him to sign a permanent field work permit for all of us squints?"

"Oh you know," Booth sipped his coffee. "Once you let one squint into the field, it's a slipper slope."

**B&B**

_**Short, but (hopefully) sweet! I couldn't resist a blundering Hacker. Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews = Awesomeness**_

_**Don't forget! I have a Twitter now - Objectivemiss**_


	10. Twisted

**Twisted**

**Summary: **Bones and Booth get a bit twisted in his apartment.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. Stop rubbing it in!

_**Fluff attack! Duck! Or don't, because it's so fluffy it won't hurt!**_

_**I know this is short (while not technically a drabble as it is not 100 words), my attention has been on "What's a Year" and some other not yet posted fics, I wanted to give the followers of this story something. I hope you enjoy it never less. **_

**B&B**

"Bones, stop squirming or I'm going to fall."

"Isn't that the point?"

"This isn't a contact sport; you aren't supposed to make me fall."

"By our current positions, I was under the impression that this is a _very_ contact laden activity."

"If I fall, you fall," Booth grumbled.

"As long as I fall second though, that means I win…right?"

"Right!" Parker cheered.

After a busy week, Brennan appeared with Chinese takeout at Booth's apartment for an evening of fun with Parker-drenched foolery. Somehow, between watching Transformers and making a pillow fort on the couch, Parker talked the partners into a rousing game of Twister. Parker proclaimed proudly that he was to be the "spinner," the FBI agent and forensic anthropologist took their places on the flimsy plastic mat.

Currently, many spins into the game, the partners were tied into a knot; legs and arms were haphazardly entwined in a desperate struggle against gravity.

"Are you sure you don't want to play?" Booth groaned.

"No thanks daddy! You and Bones are funny to watch!"

"In a way," Brennan began, "this is akin to the entertainment that a Roman Emperor would have received in the coliseum. Except, you and I are playing this odd contortion game instead of attempting to fight one another for our lives."

"Gee, thanks Bones that makes me feel _really_ good."

"Right hand yellow," Parker said, looking up to watch the awkward moments of the two crime fighters.

Brennan reached under Booth's convex position, sliding her hand to a yellow dot.

"Woah, getting a bit close to me there."

"It's just a game of survival," she watched as his hand slid over, brushing finger tips with hers.

Parker spun the badly balanced spinner, "Right foot blue."

Both players groaned audibly; their right feet were currently on green and blue was a long ways away.

"Dad always tells me 'no complaining,' so can't I say the same to you?"

The pair attempted to move their feet, only to collapse to the mat in a tangled and twisted heap.

"Booth! You're on my arm!" 

"And you're on my leg."

Suddenly, their closeness hit them like a brick wall.

"I-I should get up now before blood circulation in my extremities."

"And… me too."

"No fun!" Parker dropped the spinner. "Next time, we play Life."

**B&B**

_**Told ya it was short. Review if you liked it or if it was too short. ;)**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_


	11. Laughing Matters

**Laughing Matters**

**Summary: **When Brennan and Booth end up with a flat tire

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones; 'nuff said.

_**Haven't really paid much attention to this collection with my other two stories, but here you go! I wrote this on a trip!**_

_**I know the "broken down car" thing is another reoccurring theme in Bones fanfiction; but I really couldn't resist putting my spin on the situation. **_

**B&B**

"Bones, this really isn't funny."

"I never implied that this is a laughing matter nor did I laugh at any point."

"It's your fault that we're in this mess!"

"That's preposterous. You were the one driving."

"But you kept backseat driving and distracting the heck out of me!"

"The steering wheel is not in the backseat Booth. Besides, I was sitting in the front passenger side seat."

Booth but a palm to his face; this was a disaster. They were driving down some Pennsylvanian back road on the way to talk to a suspect when poor road conditions left the RBI issued SUV with a flat tire. Who the heck's job was it to maintain this hunk of asphalt anyway? The terrible winter probably Bones spent the entire trip pointing out unseen dangers and obstacles much to his displeasure.

_"I know how to drive Bones."_

_"It's no different than soliciting a second opinion in a medical matter. I'm simply trying to aid you for greater efficiency and speed."_

_"Well, you aren't helping."_

He scowled at the memory. Of course, when she pointed out yet another pothole in his path, he ignored her as he had earlier in the journey. Just his luck, that pothole turned out to present a real clear danger. Hopefully the suspension wasn't damaged along with the tire; that was a massive pothole. Booth didn't regret not listening to her; he regretted not shutting her up earlier.

Okay, so that sounded harsh, but he was angry and rightfully so. Bones had knowingly barged in on his last three dates with Catherine. She feigned innocence; but he knew better than that. She just looked too glad to pull him from an evening of romance. So what, he had purposely interrupted her dates before…but that was different. He was protecting her; well, she didn't exactly have the greatest track record with picking guys. The deep sea welder, the Coldplay guy, the cult man, the murderer, and now, Hacker. Not good taste in his opinion.

"So what do you suggest we do?" Brennan looked distastefully at the flaccid tire.

"I already called AAA; all we can do is wait," he sighed.

"Don't you have a spare?" she asked pointedly.

"I took it out when I was helping Rebecca move. She had a lot of stuff and I needed all the space I could get," he justified, almost to himself. He was angry that he forgot to put it back in his truck.

"Why didn't you just place it in the back?"

"Look Bones, I forgot. Drop it."

"Obviously you're upset," she huffed.

Booth slacked his jaw, shifting it from side to side. He did not want to explode in anger at Bones, no matter how much he was irritated. "Of course I'm upset; you barged in on _another_ date of mine that was going very well by the way."

"You work for a bureaucratic agency; isn't there some sort of mandated procedure for spare tires and the collection of emergency supplies?"

"No," he stood up from his stooped position, pointed an accusatory finger at her as she leaned against the crippled car. "You are not getting out of that line of thought."

"Which?"

"That one!"

"Calm down, you aren't being specific and your anger is preventing rationality."

He stepped dangerously close to her, his face inches from hers. "Then tell me why you interrupted my dates. And why did you pretend each time that you had no idea that I was on a date."

She swallowed nervously; he saw her gulp. Was she afraid? Or was their closeness affecting her as much as it affected him?

"B-Because we had case work to do…"

Did she just stutter? That wasn't Bones-like in the slightest. "But that case work could have, and usually would have, been done without me. You like your independence and space, so why drag me into the work?"

"I-I appreciate your opinion in our cases…you have worked quite a while with me and have been able to contribute v-very good insight."

"You see…I don't buy that," he stepped a bit closer. Close enough for him to feel her breath. "You know me…I do interrogations all the time…and I'm really good at telling if someone is lying. Whether it be a sixth sense, like I think. Or 'reading minutia of detail,' I know you're not telling me the truth. So let's try this again. Why did you inturrupt my date."

"I told you," she stepped up to the plate, asserting herself. "I simply wanted your help and company."

"Aha!" Booth said. "I got you this time. You said you wanted my company."

"A-And your help!" she was quick to clarify.

"But you said it. You wanted me to be there."

"Yes, but for support."

"But you wanted me to be there."

"Yes. I think that was quite clear in my earlier statement."

"We're you jealous?" he smirked, satisfied with his conclusion.

"J-Jealousy is an emotion that I am not acquainted with," Brennan looked down, trying to avoid her gaze.

"But you feel it," he brushed a few fingers along her jaw, drawing her gaze back up to his. "And that's okay."

"N-No, no it isn't."

"Bones is jealous," he sing-songed.

"I am not!"

"Why else would you be so happy to pull me away from Catherine."

"Fine!" she threw her arms up. "Then why did you interrupt my dates all those times? Was it also for jealousy?"

"N-No," now he had to be on the defensive. She did have a disturbingly steep learning curve.

"Then why?'

"To protect you. You have not exactly picked great guys to go out with and…"

"Have sex with?" 

Okay, that was territory that he didn't want to breach. The last thing he wanted was to think about her having sex with some guy she met in a bar only hours before to "satisfy biological urges" or something like that. "I wasn't going to say that…"

"But you were surely thinking it," Brennan crossed her arms defensively.

"Y-Yeah…I was."

She smiled in triumph, "So you were also jealous which motivated you to interrupt my dates."

"Maybe a little…" he admitted.

"You said earlier that I don't have the ability to pick mates…" she looked up with her head cocked slightly to the side. "Who would you suggest that I choose as a mate?"

_Me…_

"W-Well…"

"Would Director Hacker be considered a fine mate?"

_No!_

"I think that there are better 'mates' out there for you…" he tip-toed around what he really wanted to say.

"Like whom?"

He saw that glint in her eye; he had seen it before. It was that look that she got when they would talk to a suspect and she knew exactly what was going on. When she knew precisely how the victim died, who did it, and when. She often neglected the "why," but she got the important points. She knew what he was hinting at. Ever since they talked about their feelings that one night after consulting with Sweets on his book, she knew definitely how he felt and what he wanted.

_Just say it!_

"L-Like me."

"And what would make you such a suitable mate?"

"Bones, is this really necessary?"

"Very," she smiled, an almost evil look on her face.

"Well, I'm good looking-"

"With excellent bone structure."

"There's that. I care about you. We get along very well. We're perfect for one another," he leaned forward.

_I'm going to kiss you now…_

She flinched a bit, pulling back to give herself space. "How do you know all that…for sure?"

"I just do. Just like how you know that the sun is going to rise in the morning. It happens," she brushed a loving hand over her cheek.

Brennan nodded unsurely.

"Please...let me love you," he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss.

Their lips slid against each other slowly; this wasn't rough sex, it was lovemaking. It was tender and sweet; a wonderful fourth kiss between them. It wasn't alcohol driven like their first, or mistletoe induced like their second. And she certainly wasn't unresponsive and pulling away like their third after he admitted that he love her. It was perfect. It was Bones. It was all he needed.

"Well now. Nothin' like a flat tire to bring them little 'uns together!" the AAA guy walked over to the couple. "You want that tire fixed? Or I could jus' pretend I didn't see yous yet and go back from where I came to give y'all some space," he grinned.

"We want the tire fixed," they said together, smiling the entire time.

It looked like this was the real beginning.

**B&B**

_**Some fluff a day keeps the doctor away. Reviews keep the soul healthy! I love your feedback!**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_


	12. Intimidating

**Intimidating**

**Summary: **After a drunken Angela makes a slip that Brennan might intimidate men, Brennan takes the case to a reliable source: Booth.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones, only when I'm delusional.

_**Just thought this one up during a stroll on the beach. Romantic? Maybe, but you'll have to read on to find out!**_

_**By the way, I don't mean to make Angela a bad guy in this one.**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_

**B&B**

"You're drunk," Brennan giggled, hunched over a barstool, nursing some fruity tutti vodka drink Angela insisted she get.

"So are you," Angela said with a snort. "It's good though, maybe we can pick up some guys now that you're loosened up."

Confusion is often the most honest response; the intoxicated forensic anthropologist squinted in confusion. Perhaps she had missed some nuance in the conversation, for her companions comment seemed oddly biting and sharp. "Why would the degree of relaxation in my muscles have anything to do with my ability to attract a mate of desirable musculature and proportions?"

"Sweetie," the artist first paused to wave over the bartender, motioning for a refill. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you scare off guys like a wedding ring."

"I-I don't know what you mean."

"Bren, it's just, you're _so_ gorgeous-"

"Wouldn't that increase my chances of finding a male specimen willing to have sex with me?"

"Usually yes. But with your big words, mind blowing smarts, and superior acting; that scares guys away."

"Wouldn't men like women who are able to take care of themselves?"

"It's like Booth," Angela took a big swig of her drink. "He wants to take care of you; that's a guy thing. And you," she wobbled a bit on her stool, "are independent."

If she wasn't so plastered, she probably would have thought harder about what she said. Too independent? Was that even possible? For thousands of years, women were forced by society to be submissive in the social order. But, from an economic and societal evolution standpoint, decreasing self-sufficiency allowed for further specialization of labor, thus allowing fewer to become food producers. Without the great surplus of food, she would be unable to devote time to anthropology. Instead, she would have to produce food, and have children to work on the farm.

"So how could I ameliorate my charm?"

"Now it's my turn to say 'I don't know what that means.' How do you even spin off those words when I'm here, slurring the first word of every sentence."

Brennan rolled her eyes; why was it only those with doctorates could comprehend her normal manner of speech? "It means to make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory; improve. Alcohol typically doesn't affect my speech until I drink in larger quantities than I have this evening."

"Well then let's get you another round!"

"Are you sure that I scare men?"

"Positive."

"Do you think it would be wise to test you hypothesis?" she took a casual look around the room. "After all, it cannot become a theory until contested."

"Pick a guy, any guy," Angela made a wide, sweeping gesture.

Brennan made her usual smug face, tightening her lips into a tight smirk. She eyed the choice of men around the room. First man her eyes fell upon seemed to be between twenty-five and thirty; young enough to sustain high sex drive. Judging by the estimate she was able to ascertain, he was 177.8 centimeters in height. But, he had a nose piercing that could be potentially bothersome when kissing. While nose piercing originated in 1500 B.C.E, in modern society, it was considered a sign of rebellion. Hindu women of childbearing age wear a stud in the left nostril due to its association with the female reproductive organs in Ayurvedic medicine.

The second man was much more alluring. He was about 187.96 centimeters in height, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He had dimples, on one cheek (Strong jaw line, she noted, eyeing him up and down. She was objectifying him, yes, but it was all in scientific pursuit.

She walked over to him, approaching from behind. "Excuse me," Brennan tapped him on his muscular shoulder. Obviously, he exercised regularly.

"What can I do for you pretty lady?" he eyed her up and down. He surely found her pleasing to look at. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"May I ask you a question first?" Typically, she didn't ask before querying, but it seemed polite and appropriate for the circumstances.

"Anything babe."

"Do do you find that sexual intercourse or a relationship with a woman of higher intelligence and high independence intimidating?"

"Are you for real?" the guy walked off with his beer in hand.

Brennan merely shrugged, unfazed by her first failure. She found great virtue in perseverance. If Einstein had given up when working on his theory of general relativity, the world would not know that the universe is expanding far faster than the speed of light.

She scanned the bar for more males to question. Many were overweight, with lipids gathering on the abdomen, thighs, and neck. Love handles weren't libidinous in her esteemed opinion.

What she needed was a reliable male opinion; someone that had attractive physical attributes, and was prone to tell her the truth. Now where in a thirty minute radius could she find someone like that? Brennan racked her muddled brain for a person that could possibly fulfill her requirements. Hodgins could be viable, but although she was smarter than him, the disparity was relatively small enough; not to mention his nonchalance towards comparisons of intelligence. Wendell already had mistaken innocent questioning as sexual advances, so he wouldn't be a good subject. Clark wouldn't be willing to discuss his personal preferences, and Colin Fisher's perspective would be undeniably skewed. Enquiring with Vincent Nigel-Murray would only give her non-related facts.

"Stupid," she muttered under her breath.

How had she not thought of it before? For a moment, she wanted to slap her palm to her face, but she wasn't quite sure why. Booth! She could ask Booth!

"Angela, I'm going," she tapped her on the shoulder.

Luckily, the bar was a rather hot weekend spot, so it was easy to flag a cab. Brennan uttered the address of Booth's apartment to the cab driver and she slid into the worn, leather backseat. She couldn't help but lean her head back and close her eyes. Although it wasn't that late, she felt a bit hypnagogic.

Arriving at her destination, Brennan swiped her credit card to pay the fare, and dropped a few bills through the window for a very generous tip. She half-stumbled up to his building, thankfully sliding into a very empty elevator. Not feeling very considerate, she simply opened the door with the key he had entrusted to her. As far as she was concerned, this was an emergency, and thus, justified its use.

"Booth? Are you there?" she said a bit too loudly, wobbling into his apartment.

"Bones?" Booth jumped up in surprise. He was watching some sort of television show that she had never seen before. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Yes, there is something _wrong_."

"You're drunk," a condescending smile formed on his face.

"Not important," she dropped to his recliner. "Do you think I scare men?"

"W-What?" he laughed.

"Angela said that my intelligence, combined with stunning beauty, and…other stuff that guys are intimidated by me."

"You're not intimidating, trust me. I mean, it's not like you're some biker dude covered in tattoos."

"I was being serious…" she dropped her head, feeling the spontaneity in which she arrived dripping from her body.

"Oh," his lips formed a cute "o." He sunk in to the couch adjacent to her. "Umm, I guess you can be a bit…scary."

"I knew it," she used the arm operated crack to move the chair into an almost flat position.

"No no no! It's not a bad thing!"

"How?" she curled up, feeling decidedly vulnerable. "No one likes me…"

"Hey now," Booth moved to sit on the arm of the recliner. "I like you."

"But you don't want to pursue a more intimate relationship with me because I intimidate you."

"You know that isn't true," he brushed a stray tendril of hair from her face. She shivered at the contact.

"I don't…"

"Because you're drunk," he slid down from the arm into the chair next to her. "Bones, I don't cross that line because _you_ don't want me to cross that line. Is your intelligence and stuff scary? Yeah, but not in a bad way. It's sort of standing on the edge of a cliff. Breathtaking? Hell yeah. Scary? Double hell yeah. But awesome and beautiful," he turned to her. "That makes up for the scare."

"Do you mean that?" Brennan scooched a bit closer to him. They were sitting hip to hip.

She felt one of his strong arms reach around behind her. "Of course."

Feeling suddenly fearless from his assurances, she tilted her chin up, advancing her lips towards him.

"Whoa there Bones," he leaned back over the arm to avoid her.

"See, you are afraid," she grinned.

"Your breath smells like booze," he sat back up. "And I'm not kissing you while you're drunk."

"Why? Do you want to be drunk too?"

"Another time Bones," he smiled back.

"Well, I'll go home until you are ready," she sat up.

"You're not going home tonight, not in your condition."

"Then what are you going to do with me?" Part of Brennan knew that she was practically drooling over him with her inhibitions drastically lowered.

"You'll be staying here tonight."

"G-Great."

**B&B**

_**Just a quick thing I thought up and I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always welcome.**_

_**Twitter - Objectivemiss**_


End file.
